


the secrets between us

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alchemy Professor Draco, Angst, DADA Professor Harry, Hooked Up Once In The Past And Pretend It Never Happened AU, M/M, Oblivious Harry, Pining but in Denial About it Draco, Proffesor Harry Potter, because apparently he developed an interest in alchemy in later life which i am now using, black trans!hermione who is running for minister of magic, breaking curses together, cursed Draco, desi!Harry, fuck terfs, long fic, pre-plotted, proffesors au, rivals au, slowwburn, they're depressed millenials who learn to love together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:35:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26182021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Minerva’s eyes shone with worry. “You disappeared forthree years.You didn’t tell your friends or family where you went and now you’re back, with extensive knowledge on dementors all things.” Harry braced himself for her to ask where he had been or what he’d been doing. “How are you, Potter? Are you okay?”He blinked in surprise. Harry got asked a lot of questions – on Voldemort, prophecies, politics, Death Eaters, Dumbledore – but he couldn’t remember the last time somebody had just asked him… how he was.The answer was surprisingly easy.“To be honest, not really. But I haven’t been in a long while, and I’m used to it—so don’t worry about me, Professor.” He gave her a reassuring smile.She did not look reassured.Harry Potter has been missing for three years. No-one knows where he went or what he’s been up to, until he suddenly shows up at Hogwarts to apply for the DADA position.It’s a complete coincidence that, after hearing the news, Draco Malfoy decided to apply as Professor of Alchemy, as well.[The depressed millennials drarry hogwarts professors AU we deserved but never got.]
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger & Ron Weasley
Comments: 10
Kudos: 35
Collections: Anonymous





	the secrets between us

**Author's Note:**

> enjoy a fic born purely out of bitterness from the canon "boomers-ever-after" ending that we got and jk rowling's recent bigotry. fuck terfs.

Harry Potter had been missing for three years.

Draco Malfoy had tried not to care about it, and had failed.

At first after the war, the media and the public had been all eyes and ears on what Potter, literal defeater of Wizard Hitler, was up to after the Battle of Hogwarts. (Not that Draco had been reading the papers specifically looking for his name, of course – he was just attentive.) When it was revealed he was going into the Auror department, there had been general cries of, _“yeah, sounds about fitting”._ Draco had felt crazy for being confused by the decision – never once had he got the impression Potter enjoyed being on the hunt for the Hallows or the fight against Death Eaters, and from what he knew of the Auror department, it didn’t seem like the kind of place that would be suited to Potter and his little friends. At all.

But who was he to judge? He was just the dumb high school rival. He didn’t pay it much attention.

A year passed. Kingsley Shacklebolt made changes to the organisation of the Ministry, there were convictions of Death Eaters and the rebuilding of what had been destroyed at Hogwarts, and his family was let off on the fact that they did leave the Dark side at the Battle of Hogwarts – though it had been a close call. Throughout it all, he heard news of what Potter was up to as an Auror here and there. The last time Draco had seen him had in fact been at his parent’s trial, when Harry had come in as a last-minute witness that swayed the call, and then immediately left without so much as looking at him. The last time they had actually talked had been at an Auror event where they had both gotten too drunk, that he tried not to think about it too much.

And then Harry Potter disappeared, and everyone lost their minds. 

Draco couldn’t have ignored it if he wanted to – it was in the Daily Prophet’s headlines for weeks, and the Weasleys had to borderline drop out of public discourse altogether, they were being harassed that much. He hadn’t actually been that worried himself (everyone knew Potter had a talent for getting into trouble) until Granger and Weasley had revealed in a radio interview with the Quibbler—yeah, they had no idea where he was. And from their tones, they sounded on edge about it.

 _That_ had worried him.

So he may or may not have put in a private investigator or two, just to make sure the Chosen One hadn’t accidentally gotten himself fucking killed. He might have put in more when the first two came up with nothing. He might have had to stop when his father got curious as to where Draco’s private savings money was going, and the designated himself to staying up at late hours wondering whether Harry Potter was dead or not, and realising he might never get an answer.

The only thing that reassured him was the thought that Potter was so dramatic, he would go out with nothing less than a very extravagant _bang_. A public duel, a battle in the middle of the Ministry, fighting a bunch of vampires. Not accidentally drowning in the Thames.

So when Draco yawned and came down for breakfast one morning, three years later, comfortably sitting down and making himself tea and opening up his newspaper to find the headline _‘ **HARRY POTTER FOUND AT HOGWARTS, APPLYING FOR DADA POSITION’,**_ it was needless to say he spat out his tea everywhere.

“Fucking shit,” he hissed, jumping up before realising the tea had got on the newspaper as well. He scrambled to try and undo it, but no—it was soaking wet. The words were blurred and obscured. He reached for his wand to try and fix it, before realising it was currently confiscated by the Auror department for misdemeanour. “ _Shit.”_

He slumped back on his chair, staring at the big, bold headline with a mixture of disbelief and awe. This was how Potter made his comeback? Really?

Staring at the ceiling, he considered. He had been in a slump at his current job in an irrelevant corner in the Auror department for a while now – and had been meaning to go to Hogwarts for important personal reasons, anyway. And it wasn’t like he was doing himself any favours by lying to himself – no, in a lot of ways, Draco was just as obsessed with Harry Potter as he had been ten years ago. He had never got proper, clear closure on their whole bitter-rivals-to-the-end thing, and he’d never once gotten a proper, definitive duel, either. In the back of his mind, he wondered whether Harry Potter sometimes remembered everything that they’d done to each other and wanted to hex the shit out of him, too.

In that case, it was only fair that Draco went to meet him.

**

Minerva McGonagall gaped across her desk at Harry Potter. Harry Potter smiled back, hoping he didn’t look too insane.

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright, Potter?” she said eventually. “Madame Lou is no Pomfrey, but she can check you up quite fine—”

“I’m feeling fine,” Harry said. “Actually, I’m feeling great. More sure than I’ve ever felt about anything in a while.” He cleared his throat. “There _is_ a vacancy for the position, yes?”

Minerva narrowed her eyes, before sighing. “Yes.” She picked up the papers Harry had offered her and looked at it the way he’d seen her look at a particularly bad piece of homework when he was still a student. “Let’s look through your qualifications, shall we?”

He tried not to squirm as she read them over with raised brows, instead choosing to take the opportunity to look around the Headmaster’s Office. McGonagall hadn’t changed much – the claw-footed desk was the same and the Headmaster’s portraits were arranged in the same way as they had been the last time. A lot of Dumbledore’s curious little instruments were gone, replaced by stacks of books and paperwork. There was a new cauldron in the corner, and there were more shelves and drawers.

His eyes caught on a reflective ball nearby, and it showed his reflection uncomfortably clearly, if a bit distorted. Same brown skin, but ashier. His eyes were sunken. His hair had grown out, impossibly more unkempt before – he could probably tie it in a small ponytail. He was wearing semi-professional ragged robes that would have made Remus Lupin proud, and suddenly realised he hadn’t shaved his stubble. All in all, Harry Potter looked like he’d either just come out of a fight with a troll or fallen out of someone’s bed.

No wonder the Professor was surprised to see him.

It took him a second to realised McGonagall was talking. “. . . but generally, you have a quite average CV. The hands-on work you did while you were an Auror for a year and a half was excellent, but you suddenly resigning and disappearing puts a blemish on that. Your NEWT results from the year you half-retook are commendable, but the P in Care of Magical Creatures is concerning. And not to mention, you don’t have any official Defence Against the Dark Arts background beyond that, nor anything that proves to me that you can educate people.” Harry opened his mouth, but was immediately cut off by, “And no, I do not care you defeated the Dark Lord. Really, you shouldn’t have put that on here at all.”

“It was kind of a big deal,” Harry muttered under his breath, before sighing. “That’s all fair. But I did help in training as an Auror – and Dumbledore’s Army had a good run, too. I actually retook that NEWT – it’s towards the bottom – and got an E.”

McGonagall still looked uncertain. He decided it was time to bring out the big guns.

“I also have this,” Harry said, and pulled out a giant stack of papers from his briefcase.

“What in Merlin’s—”

“It’s a bunch of research I collected on the side in my three-year absence. Mainly—mainly about Dementors and ghosts, but a lot of other creatures too. It’s a whole thesis piece about their supposed origins and folklore and battle strategies against them from around the world—submitted to a private instructor as a H.A.G. It just came back yesterday.”

H.A.G.s (which quite mundanely stood for Higher Academic Grades) were the closest wizarding equivalent Harry could find to an undergrad or postgrad. How it worked often varied, but if you the official certificate from the official places, you had one.

Harry had one.

McGonagall looked at the certificate, up at Harry, and back at the certificate.

“So?” he asked tentatively. “Do I have the job?”

“Merlin’s beard, Potter,” she said, looking quite done with him, “of course you do – I think that’s the thickest stack of H.A.G. papers I’ve ever seen. I was ready to give you the job the minute you gave me a good reason.” Harry’s heart swelled. “But as your employer, I do need you to answer me a question.”

It deflated.

Minerva’s eyes shone with worry. “You disappeared for _three years._ You didn’t tell your friends or family where you went and now you’re back, with extensive knowledge on dementors and ghosts of all things.” Harry braced himself for her to ask where he had been, or what he’d been doing, or what had happened. “How are you, Potter? Are you okay?”

He blinked in surprise. Harry got asked a lot of questions – on Voldemort, prophecies, politics, Death Eaters, Dumbledore – but he couldn’t remember the last time somebody had just asked him… how he was.

The answer was surprisingly easy.

“To be honest, not really. But I haven’t been in a long while, and I’m used to it—so don’t worry about me, Professor.” He gave her a reassuring smile.

She did not look reassured.

**

The major news outlets had gone off the deep end. All Hermione could do was stare at the front page of the Daily Prophet in astonishment, before managing to say, “Ron – Ron, come here. Look at this.”

He came over, toothbrush still in his mouth and bedhead still vivid, read the headline, muttered _“shit”_ and ran out of the room. Hermione would have followed him, but she felt rooted in place, her thoughts running too fast for any actions to catch up.

The first thing she felt was an overwhelming sense of relief—confirmation that Harry wasn’t _dead._ And then next thing she felt was anger, that she had even needed to feel worried that he could have been dead in the first place.

No doubt, their inbox would be overflowing by now. When she walked into work this morning, she would be hounded with questions. _Did she know? Did she approve? Did she know why he would do this?_

And the answer would have to be no. No, Hermione did not know why one of her closest friends disappeared off the face of the Earth for three years only to show up again at Hogwarts. No, he hadn’t contacted either her or her husband. No, she had no idea why he’d done this, because he apparently didn’t talk to her at all anymore.

Hermione grimly thought she should have known that if Harry would show up anywhere, it wouldn’t be at the Burrow or at her door. _Of course_ it would be Hogwarts. It was just so . . . Harry.

Distantly, she heard Ron doing something in the background—being angry, being astonished, penning a letter to his family. Hermione might as well have been a thousand miles away as the memory of the last time she had even talked to Harry came back in full – and she remembered how he’d been like a ghost of himself

“How have you been doing, Harry?” Hermione had asked away from the hustle and bustle of Christmas at the Weasley. “I hate that I haven’t seen much of you.”

Work had overwhelmed both of them. Hermione had been preoccupied with creating an intense filtering system for her mail. Unfortunately, despite most people not having a problem anymore with a Muggle-born taking a high place in office, a black trans woman had apparently been a step too far, and the waves hate mail had been colourful, if unoriginal. Harry had been dumped with several high-profile cases and looked like he definitely wasn’t getting much sleep.

He had grimly smiled, it not really reaching his eyes. “Never better.”

At the time, Hermione had taken the words at face value as just grim humour, thinking he must have just been tired from stress or the break-up or both. Now, she wished that she’d asked more. She wished that one of them had recognised the distance growing between them and done something to stop it.

Hermione was done with it. As soon as her next work holiday came around, she was going to begin preparing for the next election campaign and running for office. She was going to make sure that nothing stood between her and the office for Minister of Magic. And once that was done, she and Ron were going straight to Hogwarts and giving the fucking Chosen One a piece of their minds. Whether he wanted to talk to them or not.

**

Harry looked around his new room. It was a spacious bedroom attached to his office, unveiled with some spells and came with a bathroom and a double bed already in place, but no other furniture. There was a large window on the side, from which he had a nice view of the Forbidden Forest and could see it was raining buckets.

In all his times at Hogwarts as a pupil, he hadn’t really stopped to consider where the hell the teachers went, but it would make sense—of course they would have accommodation, too. McGonagall had said teachers were given the option of either taking up designated living quarters in the castle or looking for accommodation in Hogsmeade, but Harry already knew he didn’t want to live anywhere other than the castle.

He flunked on to the bed and let his suitcase tip over onto the floor, really not wanting to unpack right now. For the past three years, he had been moving from place to place around the world, not ever staying in one place for too long. Getting used to treating this as his new home and not a temporary hotel might take a while.

But even then, the familiar smells and feelings of the castle were overwhelming. Walking through the palace had been an exercise in nostalgia and even now, there was a warm feeling in his heart as he finally processed the fact that he was _back._ He was at _Hogwarts._ And he wasn’t going to be leaving it again.

Maybe it wouldn’t take that long, after all.

**

The summer passed fairly quickly and the other staff began to roll in, Harry having been the earliest. McGonagall had firmly closed off the castle to the media, though she warned that when school opened and if he went out to Hogsmeade, there would be less she could do.

A lot of the staff was the same – Professor Flitwick was still teaching, as was Hagrid, and Binns still hadn’t realised he was dead. Harry also took the time to get familiar with Madame Lou, the new nurse.

Neville Longbottom was the recent Professor of Herbology, and Harry was a bit relieved. He knew Neville wouldn’t be the type to bother with questions, and it would be nice to have a someone around who wouldn’t be intrusive or too concerned.

On his way back from the infirmary, he suddenly remembered that he hadn’t contacted Ron, Hermione or the Weasley’s, and felt a violent cringe of guilt crawl up his spine. They must know he was back by now. He had _tried_ to pen a letter before showing up at Hogwarts, but had scrapped it. There weren’t really any words that could summarise _‘hey, I fell of the map for three years and didn’t contact you at all—oops!’_

He’d need to talk to them in person. Sometime.

Sunlight was blaring through the windows of the hallway, illuminating the walls with a golden glow and bouncing off of the suits of armour. The sky was a clear blue and the day was really far more pretty than it had any right to be. A lot of things would be hard to explain to Ron and Hermione, but he was sure he would be able to do it. For the first time in a while, Harry felt like his future was looking bright.

And that—rounding the corner to go to his office on a warm day in July, with thoughts of how many damn people he had to write letters to—was exactly how Harry ran into Draco Malfoy for the first time in three years.

Literally, raninto him.

They both stumbled back for a disoriented moment, and Harry began to apologise – before catching the familiar pale, blonde hair, pointed face and signature scowl.

He gaped at the sight, taking in his polished appearance and taller stature. Old memories flooded his head, and heat flooded his cheeks— from embarrassment or anger, he didn’t know. “What are _you_ doing here?”

Draco blinked in equal surprised, before suddenly straightening and making himself look like the epitome of poise. “Hello to you, too, Potter.”

Same dry tone, same condescending expression. It was Draco fucking Malfoy, alright. What was he doing here? He couldn’t have come on behalf of any of the media, but there was no reason that he would come on behalf on any Auror enquiry, either—and no reason why they would send _Draco_ to do an enquiry on _him,_ they weren’t that stupid.

Though they hadn’t actually been rivals since high school, their bad relationship was well-known. Harry himself wasn’t expecting the surge of irritation he felt at Malfoy’s tone and demeanour and everything about him, but seven years of being at odds came back to him in a rush so fast it made him feel dizzy.

His thoughts were moving to fast for his brain to follow, and he was left looking like a scandalised goldfish. McGonagall emerged from around the corner, saying something about how he should have waited for her, before she saw the scene before them and stopped.

She sighed, and frowned. “Potter, Malfoy—you two are acquainted with one another, I’m aware.” She cleared her throat before Harry could even begin to ask anything. “Mr. Malfoy is going to be working here as the Assistant Professor of Alchemy, potentially looking to take Professor Herd’s position when he retires next year.” She narrowed her eyes at the glares they were sharing. “And as fellow members of staff, you will be polite and respectful to one another.”

Draco looked away, and his face morphed into a bright smile that seemed profoundly un-Draco-like. “When have I ever been anything other than polite and respectful, Headmaster?” he asked. “Indeed, I believe it was Potter here who couldn’t even handle simple greetings.”

It was too early in his time at Hogwarts for Harry to be considering strangulation as he was now.

He instead settled for taking a mock-bow, and saying, “Humblest greetings, Assistance Professor Malfoy.” He got up. “Happy?”

Draco turned up his nose distastefully. “Needlessly mocking and over-dramatic.”

“You did always say I had a flair for that kind of thing,” Harry said.

They didn’t take their eyes off one another. Harry looked at Draco’s broader shoulders and new robes, noticed his own worn ones, and felt himself grow even angrier. After a moment of letting them size one another up, McGonagall muttered _“Merlin’s beard”_ and announced that she did, in fact, have to show Malfoy his quarters and had other things she needed to do. They parted ways after muttering forced goodbyes. Harry’s head was reeling.

Later that night, he concluded that he officially hated this. He hated everything about this.

Just in his luck, the first person from his old life he met wasn’t his close friends, or the family who had taken him in, or even fucking Neville. It was fucking _Malfoy,_ of all people _._ It felt like the universe was mocking him. 

_Assistant Professor of Alchemy._ What bullshit. Alchemy was hardly a real subject, and Assistant Professor hardly a real position. No, it there was only one reason why Malfoy could be here—he was up to something. And he wanted to make Harry’s life hell.

 _Let him try,_ Harry said, turning over in his slight-too-small bed. _I’ll make his life hell first._

He eventually drifted off into sleep, comforted by one thing—despite how much this situation sucked, at least neither of them had brought up the last time they had met. At least it seemed that they were both going to go ahead and pretend it had never happened.

The last time they had seen each other had been at the Malfoy’s trial. But the last time they had actually talked and interacted – that had been a lot more problematic. That, Harry hoped neither of them would ever talk about.

For both of their sakes.

**

_**Three years earlier** _

About half a year into his career as an Auror, Harry had found himself stuck alone at a ‘networking event’ (in this case, a reason to throw a party after particularly good month at their department). Ron had suddenly fallen ill and couldn’t come and Harry had already promised too many colleagues that he would show face, so here he was, awkwardly standing in the corner of the big hall, drinking firewhisky by himself.

Oh, for the first few hours, a ton of people had come up to him and attempted to strike up conversation. Harry was familiar with how it went, though – there would be generic small talk, some introductions, and then when conversation inevitably dwindled, they’d bring in the questions. Favours. Nonsense.

It wasn’t that Harry inherently disliked people who did this or didn’t get why they did so – it was just that it was exhausting to do it again, and again, and again. It was pretty much guaranteed that when people had realised that no, he was not willing to relive the most stressful and traumatic periods of his life for the sake of party stories and he wasn’t really in the mood to ‘make connections’, they would drift away to other parts of the hall and away from him.

And that was how Harry found himself all alone, by the bar.

 _See, this is why I need Ron,_ Harry thought to himself bitterly. If he was here, Harry would just talk to him instead. If he was here, he probably wouldn’t be stuck sadly in the corner at all. Normally, Harry would just ask Ginny or Hermione to come instead. But Hermione was busy, and things were still touchy between him and Ginny, so he had decided to suck it up and just be lonely.

He was too busy being salty to realise a tall, lean figure approach the punch bar, and was startled by someone asking him if there were any cups left.

“Yeah, they’re right here—” Harry said, before stopping in the middle of moving out of the way.

Draco Malfoy was in front of him, looking just as surprised to see Harry as Harry was to see him.

He was wearing a plain grey shirt, his hair slicked back and face clean-shaven. He had grown a little taller and buffer since the last time Harry had seen him—which had been after the War, at his parent’s inquiry.

“What are you doing here?” Harry said flatly before thinking. Of course Malfoy was here. _Of course._

Draco raised a brow. “This is a networking event for Aurors. I am an Auror who would like to network. So . . .” He leaned to the side, looking behind them. “Where’s your ginger sidekick?”

“ _Ron_ is ill. So I’m here by myself.”

“Not talking up a crowd with stories of your adventures?”

“No.” A tense silence grew between them as neither moved away. It would feel like losing. “You’re here by yourself, too?”

Yes, Harry was now Making Small Talk With Draco Malfoy. Forget nightmares and stress and what he suspected was depression, _this_ would have to be the low point of his year.

Malfoy took a sip of his punch and leaned against the table, managing to pull an air of _‘I don’t care about this conversation, I’m just bored’_ enviably well _._ “Evidently, otherwise I wouldn’t be talking to you.”

“Please, don’t let me hold you – you’re free to leave.”

“So are you.”

“I was here first.”

“What are you, twelve?” Draco rolled his eyes. “Couldn’t you have got Weasley to come with you or something? The other one – Jenny?”

Harry knew that Mafloy knew her name. “No.”

He really did not want to talk more on this topic, so he poured himself another drink of firewhisky so he had an excuse to turn away. Malfoy must have heard something in his voice anyways, because Harry saw his eyes narrow out of the corner of his eyes. “Aren’t you still with her?”

He took a second to sip before answering. “No.”

“Hm. Got dumped?”

Harry swirled his already half-finished drink and debated lying, before decided not too – just to see what Malfoy would do. “Yeah. Pretty badly, last week.”

He looked up to see that Malfoy looked taken aback. He probably hadn’t been expecting honestly. After a moment, he said, “Well. Have you been crying over it?”

“Does it look like I’ve been crying over it?”

Malfoy considered him for a moment. “No.”

They sat in silent for a few minutes, Harry burning through another round of firewhisky. The edges of his vision were going fuzzy. When he looked back at Malfoy, his cheeks were flushed from drinking, too. “If it helps, you’re not the only one who’s been unlucky in love.”

It didn’t, but it _did_ make him curious. “Been dumped, too?”

“Yup. Got hexed, as well.”

Harry wracked his brain for anyone Malfoy could have been dating – he knew Pansy Parkinson had been interested in him ages ago, but he was pretty sure they weren’t close anymore, considering she had been living in America for a year. Other than that, there were no girls he could think of that Malfoy could have been so close to. So who had him looking so dejected?

His brain was a bit too slow for maturity, as the next thing Harry said was, “Ha, figures. I pity the poor loser that gets stuck with you.”

Malfoy’s face morphed into a scowl that looked more like a pout, in a way Harry had to admit made him look kind of cute. “I’ll have you know… a ton of people are vying for my affections. So many, you don’t even know.”

“Oh, yeah?” Okay, he was definitely drunk. Harry swayed on his feet as he asked, “Like who?”

Draco mumbled something incoherent, and Harry scoffed. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.

“Oh, piss off.” The pout turned into a scowl. “You aren’t any better. What, you managed to lose your high school sweetheart. Isn’t that a requirement for Chosen Ones, or something?” Draco frowned and looked back down at his empty glass. “Nevermind. You’ll probably be back together with her in like, a month.”

Harry remembered the nature of the break-up. “Yeah, probably not. She was pretty done with me.”

“Why?”

“Oh, you know.” He gestured to himself. “I’m kind of a hot mess.”

Draco stared blankly. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

Harry suddenly felt very aware of himself, and regretted using the word ‘hot’. “Well, it kind of was for her.”

He knew he was simplifying the situation a bit. There was a lot more to what had fallen through between them—the long nights where Harry wouldn’t go to sleep and wouldn’t tell her what was wrong, would pull away from her at events and forget important days and anniversaries and would work long hours at the Auror office and ignore her letters when he was sent on abroad trips, until the letters stopped coming. A cancerous distance had festered and grown between them. Ginny had just been the one to seal the deal, in the end.

“Mm.” Draco swirled his drink. “Well, she’s dumb. I’m sure there a ton of people who are interested in your… messiness.”

“Like?”

“Y’know.” Draco took another sip. “People.”

“You’re a real help, Malfoy.” 

“Piss off. I’m just saying… keep your eyes open. I’m sure there are all too many people willing to jump in your bed, that’s all.”

He had seen the fan mail. “Ugh, don’t remind me.”

“Oh, what a _tragedy_ to be famous and attractive. Truly, no-one’s struggles can compare to yours.”

Harry shoved him without much energy, and he snickered. It was late now – about half of the crowd at the party had dispersed, and there was no one looking their way. Really, it was time Harry should have been heading home.

Instead, he said, “So, you think I’m attractive?”

Draco turned and gave him a sceptical look, accompanied with a sleek raised brow. Harry felt his face heat.

Just as he was wondering _why the fuck did he ask that_ and was about to swiftly say ‘never mind’ and get the hell out, Draco responded, “And what would you say if the answer was yes?”

There was no doubt about it. They had both officially lost their minds. They were _drunk_ out of their minds—but that didn’t mean that Harry still couldn’t say ‘ _fuck off’_ and go home. Pretend this hasn’t happened and Draco hadn’t looked at him the way he was looking at him now.

But there was something about the rawness of Draco’s gaze – the way he’d spoken smugly but not without nervousness and was now staring in apprehension, as if he was ready for Harry to punch him or laugh in his face.

Harry didn’t want to do any of those things.

He said, “I’d tell you finish your firewhisky so we can get the fuck out of here.”

**

Once they were back at Harry’s apartment, one thing had led to another both all too quickly and all too slowly. For years after, Harry would be torn between trying to block all the details out of his memory and staying up late at night thinking about it. Silently hating that he had really enjoyed it, despite fucking _everything._ Despite how it made no sense.

The next morning, Draco was gone before Harry’s eyes were open. Neither of them followed up at all, and after that, the only time Harry had heard of him was here and there in the Auror department, where it seemed Draco had a skill for getting into trouble. He couldn’t figure out whether he was disappointed or relieved that they hadn’t run into each other before Harry had left.

 _We were drunk and stupid,_ he told himself. _That’s all._

It had to be. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! if you have anything to spare, please consider donating to [Mermaids](https://mermaidsuk.org.uk/donate/) , a UK Charity that helps trans youth. Lord knows they could use it right now <3


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